


It's the Man Who Makes the Lord

by EmynIthilien



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Post ADWD, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmynIthilien/pseuds/EmynIthilien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Others are finally defeated, Jon takes up newly crowned King Stannis’ offer to become Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.  However, he finds that life in King’s Landing and helping to rule a kingdom recovering from a long war are more complicated that he imagined.  Jon and Davos POVs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's the Man Who Makes the Lord

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written for the third round of the got_exchange on livejournal, for the following prompt: King Stannis ruling the Seven Kingdoms. I’d rather Melisandre and her crazy religion weren’t around anymore. Davos as his Hand, interaction with surviving lords (not Littlefinger and Varys), Stannis being a good, dutiful, efficient, but unloved king. If you want to include Jon on his Kingsguard and/or Sansa as his wife and queen, that’d be a huge plus. Stannis/Davos and/or Stannis/Jon welcome. But mostly I would love to see a positive fic about what Stannis would be like as an actual ruler after he’s won the throne. Additionally, I don’t want any secret Targaryens or R + L = J.
> 
> Please see http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/ for the lj community. It's locked, but it has open membership as of the moment.
> 
> Furthermore, in this story it takes approximately a year from the end of ADWD for the Others to be defeated and for the rest of Westeros to accept Stannis as king, and another year from that point to the end of the story.

“Granite does not burn easily. The castle can be rebuilt, in time. It’s not the walls that make a lord, it’s the man.”

Stannis Baratheon, _A Storm of Swords_ Jon XI (p. 868, 2011 trade paperback edition)

PROLOGUE: JON

Jon waited at the base of the tower where King Stannis kept his chambers, along with four others of the King’s household guard. When he saw Ser Rolland Storm, the bastard of Nightsong, striding towards him in his polished white armor and white cloak, he walked down the hall to meet him. Ghost, as ever, silently padded behind him.

“Good evening, Lord Commander,” said Ser Rolland as way of greeting. “I trust that our King is still well, and that the Kingsguard is still living up to its name?”

“All is well,” replied Jon. _And let’s hope it stays that way, before the night is over._ “Are you sufficiently awake for your night duty?”

“I thought you knew me better than that, my Lord!” said Ser Rolland back in jest. “A bastard I may be, but you know as well as I that that doesn’t make a man foolish.”

_If only you knew what I’m going to do, you might eat those words, Ser._

Jon inclined his head, hoping his face wasn’t flushed. “I’m here to tell you that I have unfinished business with the king, and your services won’t be required this night.”

Ser Rolland raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t seem to think there was anything suspect about the order. “As you say, my Lord. I am still at the king’s service, so don’t hesitate to get me…or send your little wolf to get me.” He bent down and patted Ghost’s head, then turned around and headed back to the White Sword Tower.

When Ser Rolland’s footsteps had faded, Jon gave a nod to the other guards and began to climb the circling stairs leading to his king’s chambers; his heart pounding and his breathing none to steady either.

TWO YEARS EARLIER: JON

It was the old gods that saved him.

As he was lying in the snow after being stabbed, feeling his life’s blood run out of him, a raven started crowing.

“JON SNOW!” screeched Lord Mormont’s bird. “BRAN! GODSWOOD!” it screeched even louder. “NOW!”

“Take me. To. The godswood,” whispered Jon with his last breaths to the people who had rushed to his side. “Please.”

The last thing he truly remembered was staring into Ghost’s blood red eyes…and then he was staring into a pair of dead grey eyes. His spirit, soul, whatever it was called was trapped in Ghost’s body, like during one of his wolf dreams. Except that this _was_ no dream.

The wildlings as well as a few loyal Night’s Watch members had carried his body through the Wall to the godswood beyond the Wall, at great personal risk. Jon in Ghost walked beside his body, biting anyone who tried to disturb it or remove Longclaw. His body was laid down, eyes reverently closed, in front of the largest of heart trees with the kindest face, except…the face changed, and through Ghost’s eyes Jon saw the face change into that of this brother Bran.

_I’m so sorry, Jon,_ the tree whispered. _But I’m glad you got my message and came here, for I know how to save you._ Then all nine weirwoods in the grove, their faces weeping torrents of red tears, bent down and extended their branches toward his dead body. The red sap flowed into the wounds, healing them, making his blood flow anew. But Jon was still trapped in his wolf. _Close your eyes, Jon,_ said the weirwood with Bran’s face.

The first thing he remembered was red. Red from the weirwood leaves, red from the weirwood sap that was coating him, and red from Ghost’s eyes. And he was alive and well. _Alive._ The members of his funeral procession were dumbstruck when he stood up, but that was nothing compared to how Bowen Marsh and Lady Melisandre looked when Jon rode back through the Wall to Castle Black, Longclaw in hand and Ghost running by his side.

Jon remembered many things from before and after the great battle with the Others. He remembered Lord Davos arriving from Skagos with Rickon and Shaggydog and chests upon chests of dragonglass. He remembered King Stannis arriving back at the Wall triumphantly, bringing news of his rescue of Winterfell and his rallying of the Vale and the rest of the Northern Lords, not to mention the twenty thousand sellswords from Braavos that were making their way to King’s Landing under the command of Ser Justin Massey. He remembered Bran walking through the Wall with Meera Reed, Summer, and a veritable army of direwolves who all submitted to him. He recalled the gate being breached, recalled a constant stream of White Walkers and wights climbing the Wall, recalled making hard decisions on how to split up the troops so every castle on the Wall would be manned to stem the onslaught. The sun was rising later and later each day, until one day it didn’t rise at all. That was the day the King of the Others passed through the Wall and demanded to do battle with whichever king was brave enough to face him.

King Stannis, armed with a greatsword made entirely of dragonglass, met the King of the Others blow for blow until finally, finally, finally cut down the White Walker. The thing made an unearthly shriek and melted away when the dragonglass sword sliced off his head. Then, like in all the songs, the sun rose and all the remaining wights and White Walkers were killed by men wearing cloaks of all colors, and winter immediately turned into spring.

And whatever happened to Melisandre? Her fate was not something that Jon would pleasantly recollect, though he had to give her credit for being deluded enough to believe that she could defeat the King of the Others single-handedly. With one fluid movement the Other thrust his ice cold blade through Melisandre’s flames, straight through to her heart. All anyone heard was an agonized scream, and then Lady Melisandre of Asshai was no more, her red god of no help to her. The few Queen’s Men that were left tried to flee, but Stannis shouted orders to other soldiers not to let those “religious crows” shirk their duty. For as long as Melisandre had been at Stannis’ side, he seemed to feel no remorse at her passing, only irritation at being played false by her. His “Lightbringer” no longer glowed, and when other men made comments he brusquely said that he had never put much stock in being Azor Ahai anyway, but he not being some mythical hero did not stop him from remaining the rightful king of Westeros.

~

King Stannis called Jon to his chambers in the King’s Tower one morning, when the snows of winter were starting to melt. What use the king still had of the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Jon had no idea. Stannis was due to leave for King’s Landing soon, finally leaving him to his command in peace.

_Aye, though it is only the command of a ruin, now a ruin with no enemy on the other side._

“Lord Snow. I have requested your presence to make you a proposal, one that I hope you will accept.”

“Are you offering to make me Lord of Winterfell again?”

Stannis was not amused. “If I did I would be wasting my breath, for you would likely throw the offer in my face again. However, it seems fortuitous that you remained Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, for your two younger brothers are still alive and will rule Winterfell in their own right when they come of age. Your taking the castle from them now would be treason.”

_As if I didn’t already know that._ Jon remained silent.

Stannis continued speaking, this time in an irritated voice. “Now that I am King and all the lords of the seven kingdoms have sworn fealty to me in one form or another, I am in need of a Kingsguard, and a new Lord Commander of it at that. I can think of no other man who I would trust for that position.”

_He means me._ Jon stared at the king, and for the second time he was utterly speechless in front of Stannis Baratheon. Thank the gods Lady Melisandre wasn’t here with him this time.

“But my vows…” Jon began, the only coherent words he could begin to put together.

“Not let me prate your words at _you_ for a change. You say that your watch shall not end until your death. You’ve already died once and have a whole castle full of your black brothers, wildlings, and mine own men to confirm that fact. You’re free to do whatever you want with your “second” life, Lord Snow, and frankly your talents to lead men, strategize, and your skill with a sword are wasted up here in this frozen wilderness, now that the true threat has passed. I’m giving you the option of leading the finest order of knights in the realm, a chance sit on the small council of the king, and a place as my closest advisor after my Hand. All you have to do is bend the knee and pledge your sword to me, and you will rise as Jon Stark, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

“Stark?”

“Surely you don’t wish to keep your bastard name? I have no qualms about legitimizing you, for you _are_ a son of Eddard Stark, descendant of the Kings of Winter stretching back thousands of years.”

Jon continued to stare at the king, and Stannis only seemed to grow more irritated.

“Well?” he insisted. “Have you made up your mind?”

_What, in ten seconds? And did you just give me a compliment? I didn’t know you were capable of that, your Grace._ “No, your Grace, for in truth I need more time to think over your offer.”

“I’ll grant you some time to make your decision. But I do not wish to be kept waiting long, Lord Snow, for I have a kingdom to put back together, and that is best done at King’s Landing.”

Jon left the king’s chambers, picked up his weapons from the guards, and flexed his sword hand. His mind was abuzz with thoughts running in every direction, and he wanted to go somewhere quiet to make sense of them. The godswood was too far away, so he settled for the top of the Wall, climbing the stairs—which had miraculously survived the battle—instead of taking the winch cage. Ghost didn’t seem to like the stairs, but followed his master regardless.

To be part of the Kingsguard…and not just a member, but the Lord Commander, with a seat on the King’s small council. That was something he had never dared to dream of growing up at Winterfell, for that was something that highborn sons like Bran would dream about, not bastards like him. By going with King Stannis, he would get to see the entire realm, not just the land around the Wall with the occasional trip to Winterfell and the castles of the North on business for the Night’s Watch. And he would have more power and respect than he could ever have imagined. Not that Jon particularly desired those things, but he could do more to help the realm and the people of the North at Stannis’ side than by guarding a Wall.

Jon groaned and kept pacing back and forth on the top of the Wall, angrily running his hands through his hair. Stannis had made his proposal in the morning, and now it was evening. The king did not like to be kept waiting about anything, and Jon knew that he was seriously trying what little patience the man possessed. _This is the rest of my life we’re talking about, though. If you truly want me on your Kingsguard, King Stannis, then waiting another evening or even a few more days isn’t going to kill you._

Why did he always have to be so conflicted about everything? He technically wouldn’t be breaking his vows by going south with King Stannis, but it didn’t seem right to just up and leave the Night’s Watch, especially when many of the brothers had chosen _him_ to be their Lord Commander. Then again, by leaving the Wall he could also help his sister Sansa restore Winterfell and work to bring the North back to its former glory seen under the rule of his father. And then there was Sam. Once Sam had completed his maester’s chain, he would spend the rest of his life on the Wall, one that Jon wouldn’t be a part of if he left the Night’s Watch.

Jon groaned again. Did the gods have some bigger plan for him, one that involved him being more than just a member of the Night’s Watch? Was that why the weirwoods had brought him back? And above all, what did he want to do with his life? If he didn’t think about honor, didn’t think about duty, didn’t think of what everyone else wished for him to do, what would he choose?

He stayed on top of the Wall until sunrise, with Ghost loyally at his side, before he was ready to face King Stannis again.

~

“Your Grace.”

“Lord Snow.”

Jon took a deep breath. “I accept your offer.”

Stannis’ expression remained neutral, though there was a quirk in the hard line of his mouth that could be the beginning of a something other than a frown. He made no other move. _Well, how else was I expecting him to react? To start jovially laughing and to hug me in congratulations? My father will return from the grave before that happens._

“Should I begin addressing you as Lord Stark now?”

_No. That was my father, that was Robb, and now that’s Bran and Rickon. As much as I’ve wished for the name, aye, desired it more than anything, it’s not who I am. And I’ll always be seen as a bastard, no matter whose name or what title I bear._

“Jon Snow has always been my name, and I have no wish to change it. I doubt anyone will see me any differently as Jon Stark.”

If Stannis was surprised, he didn’t show it. He simply gave a slow nod as Jon explained his reasons, and the king and Lord Commander talked for most of the day about the restoration of the Wall, the future of the Night’s Watch, and Jon’s new responsibilities when the king was ready to head south.

~

The king’s party stopped at Winterfell before travelling south through the neck. There were finally Starks in Winterfell again, as Bran and Rickon were returned from the Wall to their home, and Sansa had returned after Stannis had marched north will hosts of Vale soldiers behind him. Sansa had helped the king win the Vale lords after his victory at Winterfell when she revealed Littlefinger’s treachery against Jon and Lysa Arryn and his plotting to kill young Lord Arryn. Though there was no marching until King Stannis had beheaded Littlefinger in a single stroke and had placed the head on a spike above the Bloody Gate.

“Lady Stark,” said Stannis as she gracefully curtsied to him, looking approvingly at the reconstruction that was happening at the castle. “Or do you wish to be addressed as Lady Lannister?”

“I am no more Lady Lannister than you are, your Grace, as you well remember from when we first met in the Vale.”

Stannis stared levelly at her. “That I do. My apologies, my Lady. I will leave you to welcome your brother, for surely his presence is more welcome to you than mine.” At that, he entered the castle with a retinue of guards following behind him.

Once Stannis had disappeared, Ghost bounded toward Sansa. She happily bent down to put her arms around his neck, and laughed when he gave her face a lick.

As much as Jon would’ve liked to mirror Ghost’s actions, he stayed where he was. He had no idea how receptive Sansa would be to such an embrace from him, for though they had started corresponding by raven once Sansa had safely been installed in Winterfell from the Vale, Jon still hadn’t seen her since the day his father had left for King’s Landing.

It seemed to him that her blue eyes had turned to ice, yet they were still a thousand times warmer than those of the Others. Her hair hung loose down her back, the same shade as Ygritte’s had been. _Kissed by fire, lucky. Maybe that’s why Sansa’s survived so many horrors. A shame that Robb wasn’t as fortunate. And Arya, whatever happened to her._

They stared at each other for a while, each hesitant to make a move first, until Sansa spoke in a voice just as formal as she had used with King Stannis.

“It sounds like you weren’t as unbiased to the affairs of the realm as a Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch should have been.”

“So are you saying you’re disappointed in me, even if I helped King Stannis save the North, save Winterfell? And…” Jon chanced it here, “helped save the realm?”

“Never, Jon.” And with that, Sansa threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. Jon couldn’t remember a time when Sansa had ever hugged him like that, had ever shown him so much familiarity or affection. “You remind me so much of him,” she whispered in his ear.

Jon didn’t know if she was referring to Robb or their father, but he didn’t really care. All that mattered was that she was here, that _he_ was here. Winterfell was being rebuilt, and most of their family was together again as well. So he held her, cradled in his arms, for how long he would never be able to recall, not caring who saw them or what they would think.

~

The king’s party stayed a fortnight at Winterfell, as the king oversaw justice for the families of the north who had suffered first hand from the Others and for those who were trying to heal their lands after the treachery of the Greyjoys, Boltons, and Freys. The northern lords all swore their undying fealty to King Stannis, thanking him for saving the North and bringing back Lord Eddard’s children. To Jon’s surprise, many of the lords bowed down to _him ___, his bastard status apparently forgotten. They thanked him for his service as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and said that late Lord Eddard would have been honored to see his son grown up—not to mention how much Jon looked like a young Eddard come back from the grave. And it was only right that a son of Lord Eddard should be at the new king’s side. Stannis had watched all this in silence, and Jon dearly wished he could’ve heard the thoughts going through the king’s head.

_See, Stannis, you didn’t have to make me Lord of Winterfell to win the northmen to your cause after all._

Before he left, Jon talked with Sansa one last time. She was rather sad to see him go, and Jon was still amazed at how much kinder and wiser Sansa had become. She was truly Lady Stark now, though thankfully without any of Catelyn Tully’s prejudices. 

“You could always stay here Jon; Winterfell will always be home to all the Starks. Men will follow your lead and help make Winterfell and our family as great as it once was." 

Jon quirked an eyebrow. “Even though I’m a Snow, not a Stark?” 

Sansa looked back at him with remorse. “Once I might have looked down upon you for that, but after playing as Littlefinger’s bastard in the Eyrie, I realized how cruel I…” 

Jon interrupted her, feeling rather touched. “King Stannis offered to legitimize me, you know; make me Jon Stark. Multiple times, to be exact. I always refused him.” 

“Why on earth would you do that?” Sansa’s eyes were wide. 

To that, Jon replied: “Being a Snow has shaped my character in so many ways, and when it all comes down to it, it’s not a man’s name that makes him a lord, is it?” 

“You speak true, Jon. And you’ll always be my brother, no matter if you’re a Snow or a Targaryen. Stannis Baratheon is a lucky man to have you at his side. Out of all the kings I’ve met, he seems to have a good deal of intelligence with a sense of honor and justice similar to that of our father. He’ll be a good king, though he needs to show more love to truly win people to him. And to learn how to laugh.” 

“Oh, I think he will,” answered Jon. _You should have seen the king when he was reunited with Lord Davos, after all evidence had pointed to Lord Manderly having beheaded him. Or when he comforted his daughter after his wife had broken her neck on an icy stairwell. No one would be able to deny then that Stannis was incapable of loving anyone._ “He just needs more time, and to find the right people to love and laugh with.”

Sansa smiled shyly, and made her farewells. 

“Best of luck, Lord Commander.” 

"And you too, Lady Stark.” 

~ 

Back at King’s Landing, King Stannis’ first order of business was to see to his new Kingsguard. 

Given that all of King Tommen’s Kingsguard were incarcerated, dead, or fled save one, Stannis was able to build his Kingsguard anew with men who had proven their loyalty to him during the war or even before that. Among them were Ser Andrew Estermont, the king’s cousin who had kept Edric Storm safe across the narrow sea, and Ser Rolland Storm, the one-time castellan of Dragonstone who had taken back the island during the recent conquest of Stannis’ forces at King’s Landing. Ser Loras Tyrell had elected to stay a part of the Kingsguard and would say his vows again to prove his fealty to King Stannis. 

It was tradition that all aspiring members of the Kingsguard spend an overnight vigil in the sept before swearing their vows in the presence of the statues of the Seven. As he had done in the Night’s Watch, Jon wished to spend his vigil and take his vows in the godswood before the heart tree. The High Septon was wroth at Jon’s decision, and began to prattle on and on about heathen gods. King Stannis reminded the man that he only suffered his presence because most of the South believed in the Seven, so he could either stop moaning or be replaced by a septon who would respect those who put their faith elsewhere. As well, it was also tradition that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard induct new members into the order, but since the new Lord Commander was yet to be inducted, the king would take charge of the proceedings. 

Jon felt the tip of Stannis’ sword touch his shoulder. At present, he was kneeling before the king, who in turn was standing before the heart tree in the godswood. 

“Do you, Jon Snow, son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell and the old Kings of Winter, pledge your life and sword to serving King Stannis Baratheon, true king of Westeros and the seven kingdoms? And do you swear to take no wife, father no children, and give up any claim to lands and titles?” 

“I do.” 

"And do you pledge to protect the king and his family from all harm, and to never leave his side unless he himself orders you to?” 

“I do.” _This is almost like a wedding._

“Then in the presence of the old gods, the gods of the first men, I name you Ser Jon, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. May you serve honorably and well, and never forget your duty.” 

Jon heard Stannis sheath his sword. He looked up, and saw Stannis come to kneel before him, a white cloak slung over one shoulder. Even kneeling, the man still towered over him. His king quickly undid the fastenings of Jon’s crow-black cloak and hastily removed it, as if the whole ceremony was nothing but a nuisance. However, when he draped a new, snow-white cloak around Jon’s shoulders he was almost gentle, and clasped the cloak with some sort of charm. When Jon looked down, he noticed that it was a snarling direwolf’s head, wrought in white marble with red garnets as eyes—almost identical to the direwolf that graced the pommel of his sword. He doubted the clasp had been Stannis’ idea—Lord Davos’, most likely—but he was touched nonetheless. 

“Rise, Lord Snow, and take charge of your command.” 

There were no hugs or congratulations like after he had taken his Night’s Watch vows in the godswood beyond the Wall. But Jon didn’t need that. Seeing his six new brothers in white kneeling before him, feeling Ghost sitting faithfully beside him, and seeing the smiles on the crowd that had come to the godswood was enough. Jon saw King Stannis come to stand next to Lord Davos, who was in turn accompanied by his three sons. Stannis’ arms were folded and there was a stern expression as ever on his face, but Jon could sense that the man was pleased. 

_I’m Lord Snow in truth now. Not just the bastard of a lord with a high opinion of himself, or the commander of a ruin._ When Stannis’ eyes met his for a fleeting instant, he knew that there was no place in Westeros he would rather be. 

~ 

The next day, King Stannis requested meeting with Ser Loras Tyrell. Jon was guarding the king in his solar at the time, and he got the impression that Stannis wished for him to hear the conversation. _I know nothing, really, about Ser Loras, save that he’s arrogant, used to be handsome, and comes from a rich family. In other words, he strikes me as a young Jaime Lannister, though sleeping with his sister is the farthest thing from his mind if the rumors about him and late Lord Renly are true._

“Why would you still wish to be part of the Kingsguard?” began Stannis. “You have no love for me and despise the fact that I’ve made a bastard your Lord Commander instead of a highborn son of a lord such as yourself.” 

Jon wondered the same thing. After Stannis’ army and navy had taken King’s Landing and decimated the remaining Lannister and Tyrell forces, the Tyrells had paid a heavy price. Though Stannis did free Margaery from the Faith and restore her good name, he would not let the Tyrells get off easy for knowingly supporting bastards born of incest for their family’s personal gain. Tyrell gold had erased some of the Crown’s debt to the Iron Bank in Braavos, and Brightwater Keep had been restored to the Florents along with more land for their loyal service to the king. Alekyne Florent found it in himself to forgive King Stannis for the burning of his father, and he was altogether a nicer man than any of his relatives had been. Mace Tyrell had blustered and yelled when Stannis had delivered his terms to the Tyrells, but as Jon recalled, Stannis bluntly suggested that the Lord of Highgarden was welcome to spend time in Storm’s End’s dungeons to think over the terms, since he had been so eager in the past to get into the castle. 

"I’m one of the finest knights in the realm,” answered Loras, “and no matter who sits the Iron Throne, the Kingsguard is the most respected and honored order of knights in the seven kingdoms. As well, I…” Loras paused, and he straightened his body and stared directly into Stannis’ eyes. 

"And I would willingly give my life to protect Renly’s nieces and nephews, when they come.” 

The two men stared at each other for a long while. Jon couldn’t properly describe the mix of emotions that lay heavy between them, parts revulsion, loathing, regret, and sadness with the tiniest bit of grudging respect. No matter what happened, Jon knew, Loras would never get over Renly’s death, and having to serve someone who was rumored to be complicit in it…well, Jon was glad that he was never faced with having to serve Roose Bolton the or former King Joffery after what they did to Robb and his father. 

Finally, Loras asked in a soft voice, hard as steel: “Did you kill him? I don’t _care_ what you do to me, if you wish to throw me out into the sea do it, but just answer my question honestly. I swear that I won’t mention your brother again if you don’t wish it, and no matter your answer I will not break the vows I swore when I donned the white cloak.” 

Jon expected Stannis to shout _something_ at Loras, or at the very least reprimand him for daring to ask a personal question of his king when it clearly wasn’t the place or time. Stannis’ face was an emotionless mask as ever, but Jon noticed tension around his eyes and a curve in his frown that must be being caused by something other than anger. Grief, perhaps? 

In a voice as soft as Loras’ had been, Stannis replied, “No, I never wished any harm to come to my brother. As much as I lamented the misguided and conceited man that he became, I would never knowingly hurt the sweet little boy who told me I was a hero for holding Storm’s End during your father’s long siege on the castle.” 

“But the shadow. Lady Brienne swore that she recognized the shadow that slew him.” 

At that, Stannis turned away from Loras and closed his eyes and tilted his head up, like men were wont to do when they prayed. Jon wondered if that was what his king was doing, if even after professing time and time again how any and all gods meant nothing to him, that he wished for guidance from some unseen power in hard moments like this. 

“The maker of that shadow is dead, killed by her own arrogance. I saw the King of the White Walkers drive his ice cold sword through Lady Melisandre’s fiery heart, and none of her powers or flames was able to save her. She promised me that I would have victory over my brother if I met him at Storm’s End, which I assumed would be in battle. But she never said that she would kill him to grant me my victory.” 

Jon didn’t doubt that what Stannis said was true, but he wondered how much Stannis was leaving out of the story, especially any part that he might have unwittingly played in Renly’s murder. And in Ser Cortnay Penrose’s decision to throw himself from one of Storm’s End’s towers. Loras, however, seemed satisfied with Stannis’ answer. Or at least knew that that was as good and as honest an answer as he was ever going to be able to get out of Stannis. 

“May the Red Witch burn for all eternity in every one of the seven hells,” he spat. “May I have your leave to go, your Grace?” 

Stannis gave a slow nod, and Loras stood up and strode toward the door. When he turned the handle, he paused, and in turning to face Stannis once again, mumbled “Thank you.” Stannis’ eyes kept staring at Loras, long after he left the room. 

~ 

"Lord Tyrion thinks rather much of himself, does he?” seethed Stannis in a clipped tone. 

Though he had yet to set foot in King’s Landing since King Stannis had set up his seat in the Red Keep, Tyrion Lannister, newly styled Lord of Casterly Rock, was certainly making his presence known. Ravens flew daily from the Rock to the capitol, and Stannis was becoming as irritated with the dwarf as he was close to accepting his offers. However, a small thing called “justice” was always getting in the way, and how to reasonably deal with the family of the former occupants of the Iron Throne had been contested ever since the Baratheon stag—and only the stag, no lion or flaming heart near it—once again safely flew from the battlements of the city. 

Tyrion had offered to forgive the Crown its debt of over three million golden dragons to House Lannister in return for a price (a “small price for a small man,” as Jon recalled it worded): The life of Ser Jaime Lannister, Kingslayer, newly dubbed Kingsguardslayer _and_ Queenslayer, who had been taken and subsequently imprisoned when Stannis had taken King’s Landing. Ser Jaime had remained confined ever since. 

The argument over Ser Jaime’s fate had been going on in the king’s council for months. Jon personally thought that if Stannis had had his way, Jaime’s head would have been decorating the Red Keep ever since his men had come upon Jaime cradling Cersei’s corpse after stabbing her through the heart. Death _would_ be a just punishment for a man who had broken so many vows and oaths, but by virtue of him being Jaime Lannister, things were more complicated. 

Jon remembered accompanying Stannis to the dungeons when he questioned the Kingslayer. Stannis had been rather surprised to hear about former King Aerys’ stockpiles of wildfire, and Cersei’s plot to murder Tommen before the Baratheon soldiers could get to him. Though Jon wondered what surprised his king more: The fact that Jaime Lannister had legitimate reasons for his most infamous act, or that he had become partially deranged without the help of drink or drug of any sort. 

"Necessary, necessary! Those deaths were necessary! I was not going to stand idly by and watch the people of King’s Landing be roasted alive or _my_ child be murdered!” ranted Ser Jaime. 

“So you readily admit that the last two kings you served were bastards born out of your incest?” stated Stannis. 

“Like I would gain anything from denying it now. All my children are dead, Cersei having poisoned Tommen’s drink without my knowledge and Myrcella being done in by those Dornish dogs. If I weren’t so complicit in the crime I would commend you for figuring out about the whole affair, though I’m afraid all your poking and prodding served only to kill Jon Arryn and later Ned Stark when he decided to turn detective.” 

Jon didn’t need to see Stannis’ face to know that the king was just barely restraining himself from shouting at Jaime or strangling Jaime, or perhaps both. Stannis probably guessed as well that that was the reaction Jaime was hoping to provoke, so he stayed silent and let Jaime continue speaking. 

“So who are you going to replace me with? Your onion knight? Oh wait, he’s your Hand…a Hand with only one good hand, that’s terribly ironic, isn’t it?” 

“Be mindful of your words, Ser,” Stannis answered back, in a voice as cold as ice. 

“Have I struck a nerve? You do realize that I have nothing left to lose, and the only reason my head hasn’t been sliced off by King Stannis the Just is because my dear brother is threatening you with _something_ in order to save my life? What he has on you gods only know, but I doubt you’re keeping me alive so I can help train the new Lord Commander of your Kingsguard. Who did you appoint, if I may ask?" 

"That isn’t really your concern, is it?” 

“Oh come on, I’m sure he’s hanging around one door or another here. You wouldn’t dare talk to a _king slayer_ without your most loyal sword around, would you?” 

Stannis locked eyes with Jon, and tilted his head to the side, beckoning him forward. _What_ Stannis thought to achieve with him speaking to Jaime, he had no idea, but he went and stood next to his king as commanded. Ghost followed after him. 

At the sight of Jon, Jaime dissolved into a fit of laughter. Jon could feel Stannis bristle beside him. 

“Snow? At least I’m assuming it is, honorable Ned Stark never properly introduced you when Robert last visited Winterfell. How predictable, though. Robert was always going on and _on_ about how Stark was the brother he never had, so you find Stark’s bastard son and give him a white cloak.” He continued to laugh uncontrollably. “Gods, Snow, do you have any _idea_ how much like your father you look? You look just like him when he entered the Red Keep and saw me sitting on the Iron Throne with King Aerys’ blood on my sword, well, save he wasn’t wearing such pretty white armor…” 

“ENOUGH!” roared Stannis, finally losing his patience. 

Jaime feigned being offended. “I guess only time will tell if your pet wolf has any teeth.” 

Jon’s temper began to boil, but he fought to stay calm. As if he could sense his master’s mood, Ghost walked forward and pushed his snout through Jaime’s cell bars and bared his teeth. For the first time Jaime seemed to notice the direwolf. Real fear suddenly appeared in his eyes, and he pressed himself even further back into the cell wall, if that was even possible. 

“You might remember Ghost from when you visited Winterfell so many years ago, when my brother Bran came to fall from a tower. He has regained full memory of the events that caused his fall, and he told me the tale when I recently saw him on the Wall with _his_ direwolf.” _Pet wolf indeed…_

Jon watched Jaime’s eyes widen, whether it was because Jaime was taken aback by the fact that Bran was still alive or because he knew exactly what tale Bran told, he couldn’t be sure. Still, there was some sort of satisfaction in watching Jaime Lannister’s arrogance dissolve into genuine alarm.

“The wolf has every right to judge the lion. I would take the King’s advice, and watch your words, Ser.” If anything, Jaime was looking at Jon like _he_ was the ghost in the room, and Jon wondered if Jaime was frightened of something greater than a direwolf and a thinly disguised threat. _Maybe he’s haunted by dreams like I am, save in this case he’s running around the Red Keep listening to the whispers of the dead, instead of around Winterfell._

With that, Stannis nodded at Jon, and the two of them left Ser Jaime’s cell side by side, and then walked up a twisting stone staircase that led out of the dungeons. Jon’s white cloak swished behind him. When they were out of earshot of the prison guards, Stannis turned to Jon as asked:

“Did I just hear you make a threat?”

Jon thought back to a time long back when a king nodded to him from a tower on the Wall. “I suppose I just did,” he said with a smile. “And as you might remember, I do make good on my threats. Janos Slynt knows that well.”

“I imagine he does.” And Jon could swear that a ghost of a grin appeared Stannis’ face.

~

Of all the things that King Stannis and his council discussed when he took his seat at King’s Landing—grievances of the families that fought in the war, rebuilding damaged structures, and planning for the spring planting and harvests—finding him a new bride so a solid line of succession could be established was of utmost importance. Princess Shireen had no desire to be queen, and Stannis was reluctant to let newly legitimized Edric Baratheon have Westeros under his control, thinking the boy too much a younger version of Robert. Mace Tyrell had the gall to offer Margaery’s hand, to which Stannis replied he would never consider a woman who willingly married his conceited younger brother. The one possible match that had both King Stannis and the council in agreement was with Sansa Stark. She was tied by blood to three of the most politically important families in Westeros—sister to the Lord of Winterfell, niece of the newly restored Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident Edmure Tully, and the cousin of young Lord Robert Arryn of the Eyrie. Jon was fully supportive of the match, though he had personal reservations about whether or not Sansa would want to come back to King’s Landing.

However, before a proposal could formally be sent to Sansa, her present marriage to Tyrion Lannister needed to be annulled by the Faith. Which meant getting the Imp to swear that the marriage had never been consummated. Thankfully, Tyrion Lannister was all too happy to help King Stannis in this matter.

“And when were you ever in a position to be friendly with the Imp?” directed Stannis at Jon after reading a letter with a golden lion seal.

_Why should that matter? I haven’t been in contact with the man since he left the Wall._ “A long time ago when I was a young, naïve boy heading for the Wall. He told me some uncomfortable truths and advised me to forget the stigma attached with my bastard’s name and to learn to glory in it. That all dwarves may be bastards, but not all bastards need be dwarves. I’m sure you can’t find any fault with that.”

Stannis’ eyes narrowed. Jon saw Lord Davos’ eyes flick from him to Stannis and back again, all the while hiding a grin behind his hand as he rested his right elbow on the table, which the king failed to notice. To say that Stannis was still angry over how Tyrion had defeated his forces on the Blackwater was a gross understatement, thus rarely did anyone dare say anything favorable about the Lannister lord in King Stannis’ hearing.

“Today Lord Tyrion is less concerned with his brother’s fate and more concerned with defending his honor. Whether he is an honorable man is questionable, but at least he had the sense to give a frank—if impertinent—answer concerning his marriage with Sansa Stark.”

Jon took a look at the proffered letter:

_To King Stannis Baratheon, rightful king of Westeros:_

_I swear by the old gods and the new, and on my life that I never consummated my marriage with Lady Sansa Stark, which I assure you she will confirm. If Lord Tywin were still alive, he would be delighted vouch for me as well, for he took pleasure in chiding me time and time again for failing to perform my duties as a husband._

_If you were any other man than her possible betrothed, I would feel offended that you would question my word that I did not force myself on a twelve year old child who had recently watched her father murdered on the order of my evil nephew and who would soon learn of the murders of her mother and brother—which occurred with the blessing of my father, no less. The whole kingdom likely knows of my former fondness of frequenting, ah, establishments that hired beautiful women. This in no way means that I was unable to control any urges I had during my farce of a marriage to noble Lady Stark. There is no pleasure and certainly no honor in lying with an unwilling woman._

_Please give my regards to the new Lord Commander of your Kingsguard. After hearing the tales of how he proved his valor by helping to save the kingdom from the horrors beyond the Wall as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, I have absolute faith that no harm should come to you while he is around. Tell him he has heeded my advice well._

_Signed,  
Tyrion Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock_

“Has he agreed to ask the Faith to annul the marriage?” questioned Jon.

“He _has_ , surprisingly, and asks nothing in return. I just needed to have his word that the marriage was unconsummated before further proceedings are taken. For it would be like him to add the annulment of his marriage to Lady Stark to the list of things he will do only if I let his brother keep his oath breaking head.”

Jon privately thought that Tyrion wasn’t using the marriage to Sansa as a bargaining chip for much more personal reasons. If the rumors were true, Tyrion had come back from Essos with a lady named Tysha, presumably a long lost childhood friend, and had designs to make her the next Lady Lannister. And to do that he needed to cleanly and quickly sever ties to the current Lady Lannister. Jon was sure that Stannis had heard these rumors, but he doubted that Stannis would understand why a political opponent would yield to his adversary for the simple reason of love.

“So will you go through with it, then?” wondered Jon.

“If by ‘it’ you mean to say ask you sister for her hand, then yes. I will write and tell her that as Lady Stark and so called “Lady of the North,” it is her duty to help unite the seven kingdoms in peace once more. The Stark bannermen and all the bannermen of the North will be wont to be loyal to me with her as Queen, and that she should find great honor and respect.”

Jon didn’t like the sound of those words. If anything, they were sure to make Sansa want to firmly plant her roots in Winterfell and never leave again. Stannis’ words were true, but they spoke of alliances and duty, duty above all…exactly how Stannis thought and acted when one got right down to it, but that sure wouldn’t warm her to him.

“You Grace,” he began, “You’re not seriously considering using those words in a letter to Sansa?”

“Why not? Is there anything wrong with them? I thought the council,” Stannis paused to make sure he had his council’s undivided attention, “and you in particular were in favor of my making a match with Sansa Stark and all of the political ramifications of a strong alliance with the North, not to mention her ties by blood to the Lords of the Riverlands and the Eyrie.”

_I see nothing wrong with the politics of the match, but the last thing Sansa wants to be right now is a political tool. You need to convince her that you want her to be more than that._ “Sansa knows all of that already and has been trained to do her duty since she was born; you would be insulting her to phrase any words to her like that. Sire, try and think of things from her perspective. King’s Landing has only brought death and destruction to her—to _my_ family. Can you offer her anything different?”

“I can protect her,” said Stannis indignantly.

“Then _say_ that. And add that you look forward to getting to know her personally, and to making King’s Landing as happy a home as Winterfell was to her in her youth. Above all, don’t make it sound like you’re trying to _order_ her to do anything.”

“Are you suggesting I write a love letter like the fool Florian would write to his lady love Jonquil?”

Jon couldn’t tell if his king was trying to joke with him or not. Likely not. “No. I have a feeling Sansa would see right through something like that.”

Stannis was silent, and a thoughtful expression slowly began to appear on his face.

“I will consider your advice, Lord Snow. Council dismissed.”

DAVOS

After all the council members had filed out of the room, Davos found himself relaxing with his king on one of the many balconies of the Red Keep over a glass of lemon water. Davos remembered with a chuckle when Stannis announced to his small council that he would allow no alcohol of any sort to be drunk when matters of state were being discussed, as he wished his advisors to have clear heads and not to have their words influenced by drink. When Wylis Manderly had objected, Stannis had shrewdly replied that another Master of Coin who could perform _all_ the responsibilities required of the office could surely be found in a fortnight.

Davos rather enjoyed having young Lord Snow on the small council, for he was another man like himself who wasn’t afraid to tell Stannis the truths he needed to hear rather than those he wanted to hear. As well, Jon seemed secure enough in his position to be willing to openly risk Stannis’ displeasure from time to time, whereas most all the other lords Davos had met were constantly trying to curry the king’s favor in one way or another. Not that they gained any more favor by that tactic.

Davos would have been interested to see how Jon and Stannis had interacted as the Not-Quite-King-of-all-Westeros and Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, when they were more like adversaries from what Davos had heard. But Jon had ended up supporting Stannis, at a risk to the neutrality clearly stated in the vows he had previously sworn. Jon was bolder with Stannis than anyone Davos had known—including himself, likely because Jon had been raised among lords and knew how to command and how not to be daunted by any other man.

“Were you ever that impudent with me, Davos?” said Stannis, referring to Jon’s closing remarks from council.

“Oh, I can think of a few occasions. You didn’t take kindly to hearing a smuggler remind his king about where a king’s duty should lie.”

His king glowered at him, but chose not to respond. “But by what right does the boy think he can lecture me on how to properly...what’s the word? Court. On how to properly court a woman?”

“To be perfectly honest, your Grace,” he began.

“You always say that when you think you’re going to anger me, Onion Knight,” said Stannis with a snort.

“It is not my wont to speak ill of others, but your former Lady wife brought you no joy and was indifferent to you, which caused you undue grief and frustration.”

Stannis considered this. “I find no fault with that statement.” His face betrayed nothing.

“If you hope to win Lady Sansa, not simply her hand but her heart, then I would do as Lord Jon suggests. And before you ask, I _would_ care about winning her heart, for I doubt you wish to have a repeat of your last marriage. As well, I personally wouldn’t want to face the Lord Commander or his direwolf should Lady Sansa become unhappy.”

His king didn’t reply, but instead went to lean on the balcony ledge and to stare forlornly out at the sea, as he often did when some matter was angering or distressing him.

“You only have good things to gain,” assured Davos.

“But what would she find in me to love?” said Stannis is a low, bitter voice. “Why would she see me any differently than Selyse did, or how most of the people in this realm do? Aye, they might respect me, but they will never come to love me like they did my brothers. Why would Sansa be any different?”

Ah. So that’s what was eating at him. Davos should have anticipated this. He could think of a number of reasons why Lady Sansa could come to love his king, similar to the reasons why he had stayed at Stannis’ side for nearly half of his life. _You’re just, fair, and show kindness, respect, and mercy where it’s due. You have courage that few can match. You have faults like any other man, but they are inconsequential in comparison to the amount of good things you’ve done for the realm._ He longed to tell Stannis this, to grab him by the shoulders and look him in the eyes and reassure him, but when he opened his mouth to speak, his tongue refused to form any words.

Stannis took Davos’ silence as confirmation of his fears, and didn’t prompt him to speak further like he usually did when Davos hesitated. He went back to staring out at the sea.

Davos could not let the conversation end like this, could not let Stannis brood himself into oblivion like some men did with drink. _If I tell him the truth how I see it, he might just think me biased and dismiss it. Who else could assure him of this matter, that there are those that do more than merely respect him, if not me?_ And suddenly he thought back to a time not too long ago when his king bent down to pet a white wolf, and the dark haired young man whose jovial laughs were able to bring a rare smile to Stannis’ face then.

“You have the respect and admiration of her older brother, whom she trusts above anyone else in Westeros. Why else would Jon be so supportive of the match, if he didn’t see you differently? That’s got to count for something.”

Stannis was silent for a long while, and then his blank, brooding glare seemed to soften and change into a thoughtful—and dare Davos say pleased?—expression.

“It does,” said Stannis, turning to look at Davos. And Davos felt no fear in giving a sincere smile back in return.

JON

Much to Jon’s surprise, Stannis did more than simply consider his advice concerning how to write a pleasing letter to Sansa. Stannis took the advice to heart and prepared himself like a commander preparing for battle, except this was a battle of correspondence. As fast as ravens could fly between King’s Landing and Winterfell, Stannis was sending a new missive to the North and receiving one back from Sansa in return. News spread like wildfire around the Red Keep about how the king was slowly winning Lady Stark to him through words, though no person was foolish enough to say that within his earshot. Even Jon dared to do no more than smile when he saw a new roll of parchment with a white direwolf wax seal on Stannis’ desk, for he did not care to risk his king’s wrath on a matter as delicate as this.

So Jon did the next best thing to figure out what was going on between Stannis and his sister: Wait for Sansa to divulge something in her letters to him and ask innocent questions in return. After all, he did correspond with her regularly to ask how the restoration of Winterfell was going, and how Bran and Rickon were faring. Her replies were always along the following lines:

_“The king is proving to be a rather agreeable correspondent, if rather blunt with his words at times.”_

or

_“ ‘What ever does he talk about?’ You ask me? Why, brother, that’s a rather unchivalrous thing to ask of me! But if you must know, he asks me about myself and writes a good deal of his mother and father and any occasions when he had met my mother and our father.”_

Jon’s interest was piqued. He wondered what Stannis would say of Eddard Stark, as Stannis respected the man but had never liked him. _I guess Stannis is capable of endearing himself to a beautiful young woman after all, he just had to want to do it._

One day, when Stannis chose to lock himself in his solar after receiving another letter with a direwolf seal, Jon sought out Lord Davos to figure out exactly how the Hand—it had to be him, for who else could talk sense to the king?—had convinced Stannis to do something contrary to his nature but sensible at the same time.

“Lord Davos.”

“Hello, Jon,” said Davos kindly, “How may I be of service to you?”

“How in seven hells did you convince King Stannis to start corresponding with my sister, much like how knights write letters to their loves in the songs?”

Davos’ eyes brightened. “Oh, I doubt our king is writing love letters. He would never stand for such frivolity, even if he was capable of writing them.”

Jon sensed that Davos was avoiding his question. “Yes, but what did you say to him?”

Davos smiled knowingly at Jon. “My dear Lord Commander, think back to what _you_ said to him. You deserve the credit for talking sense to our king this time.”

~

Jon was broken out of his reverie by the sound of footsteps entering the grove. He looked behind him, wondering who else in the Red Keep would care about visiting the godswood. Since he had taken his vows as a member of the Kingsguard, Jon had never run into another soul wishing to seek solace in the trees, which suited him well enough. He blinked when he saw his king tentatively walk into the godswood, as if he was child entering a room he wasn’t sure if he belonged in or not.

“Your Grace,” said Jon in greeting.

Stannis stopped next to where Jon was sitting, on a log in front of the heart tree. His hands were folded behind his back.

“What makes you visit this grove? You always seem so at peace here.”

_So he’s made note of the time I spend here? Does this make me a religious fanatic in his eyes?_ Jon’s gut told him that no, Stannis likely didn’t care what higher power Jon might believe in as long as he kept to himself.

“It reminds me of Winterfell, I guess, of my family in happy times before the war. So many of the defining moments of my life have happened in front of the heart trees—my father telling me that he would always love me as much as my trueborn siblings, taking my Night’s Watch vows, taking my Kingsguard vows, being brought back after I was killed.” _Being brought back by the trees._

Stannis made no comment. Instead of turning around and walking out of the godswood like Jon expected him to, Stannis took a seat on the log next to him—a shade closer than Jon would have expected. Jon was utterly surprised, but said not a word as Stannis sat in silence for a long while, his eyes closed. Jon could acutely hear the wind whistling through the red leaves of the trees and the birds rustling in the bushes; smell the scent of rotting leaves and the faint sweetness of the weirwood sap; feel the echo of all those before him who had visited this grove looking for guidance or simply peace. He wondered how much of that Stannis picked up on, whether he could really grasp what the godswoods throughout the realm meant to people, meant to _him._

After a long while, Stannis began to speak, in a soft voice that Jon had rarely ever heard him use: “I told Lord Davos that I could never believe in the seven gods that let my parents drown before my eyes. I felt the horrors that the Lord of Light worked, yet I saw him defeated when the King of the White Walkers extinguished the last of Lady Melisandre’s red flames. And the old gods, the gods of the First Men…”

Jon waited, curious to hear to hear what he would say.

“They sheltered one Lord Stark, and saved the life of another Lord who I would be lost without.”

Jon had a feeling that Stannis didn’t mean Lord Davos, the only other man that Jon had ever seen Stannis show any measure of affection or reliance towards. He didn’t know quite know if he should feel pleased, touched, or honored by the sentiment. _Or maybe I could get advice from Davos on how to interpret Stannis’ moods and words._

Ghost chose this moment to walk out from behind the heart tree, and after brushing past Jon he came to sit next to the King. Stannis was a bit startled from having the wolf in such close proximity to him.

“He won’t hurt you…well, unless you try to hurt me,” said Jon with a shy smile.

Stannis hesitantly extended a hand toward Ghost, who sniffed it and gave it a lick. Stannis then patted Ghost’s head, lightly running his fingers through the wolf’s snow white fur, scratching behind his ears, and stroking his neck.

As Jon watched Stannis pet Ghost, he realized that he could suddenly feel Stannis’ large, calloused fingers running through _his_ hair, and move lower to caress the base of _his_ neck. It was a feeling akin to that he got when he could taste blood in his mouth after Ghost went hunting, or when he had felt Orell’s eagle claw into the fur on Ghost’s neck. But he had never felt anyone pet his direwolf before, especially when he was sitting not but a few feet away from him. He could feel a blush creep up his face, for it was a quite intimate touch that made him remember how Ygritte would lace her hands together behind his neck and bring him down for a kiss. Jon determinedly stared at the ground, hoping that Stannis would stop petting Ghost and not look his way, for how would he explain himself? Luckily, Ghost must have sensed his wishes and gave Stannis’ hand one last lick before coming to sit by his master’s side, allowing Jon to bury his face in Ghost’s fur, so Stannis couldn’t see how flushed his face was.

Oblivious to what was going on in Jon’s mind, Stannis continued speaking. “Take that as you will, but you have my word that you will never suffer any insults to your heart trees or see another weirwood grove burned while I am king. The destroyed grove at Storm’s End will be replanted; I was foolish to let Lady Melisandre have her way with it.”

“So do you believe in them then, the old gods? Or in any gods, for that matter?” Jon didn’t know what drove him to ask that, or how Stannis would react to being asked such a personal question.

Stannis gave him a long look, and Jon was acutely aware of the intensity of the dark blue eyes that stared back at him. Jon suspected that a blush was creeping up anew on his face. “Once I might have told you, Lord Snow, that no, I don’t believe in any higher power. Or that I will go through the motions to follow any god that will have the power to instill fear into my subjects and enemies alike. But now, with you sitting next to me _alive_ when hundreds confirmed your death…”

He paused, as if some great internal struggle was going on inside of him, before saying simply:

“I don’t know.”

And that was one of the first truly unguarded and honest things that Stannis Baratheon ever said to him.

DAVOS

The council was arguing again over the fate of Ser Jaime. Wylis Manderly, Master of Coin, was urging Stannis to let the Kingslayer take the black for the sake of the Crown’s coffers. An “accident” could always be arranged for Ser Jaime on the road up to the Wall if it pleased the king, as his father Lord Manderly had arranged for a number of Freys traveling out of White Harbor. Stannis was not pleased, replying that the Freys were deserving of such a duplicitous act, but that the Imp was too clever to swallow a ploy like that. Lord Royce, Master of Laws, urged Stannis to simply behead the man and damn the consequences, for Stannis had a big enough army to subdue any objectors and the new spring harvests would surely help erase the debt given time. The rest of the council members were split on the matter, their decisions based emotionally on how much their families and lands had been hurt by the Lannisters in the war, rather than any law or oath that Ser Jaime had broken.

Davos personally felt that this was a situation where justice could be served without bloodshed. It was punishment enough for any man to be sent to the Wall to freeze for life. Davos shuddered at the memory of his time spent at Eastwatch and Castle Black during the worst of winter, and even with spring the place still wouldn’t be _warm_. As well, Ser Jaime had recently suffered the death of his father, sister, and all of his children, and if he wasn’t living in one of the seven hells by now, it was only a matter of time before his conscience ate him alive. Yes, Davos concluded, keep the man alive and the Crown gets rid of most all its debt and becomes friends with Casterly Rock, and the only one who suffers directly from Ser Jaime being kept alive is him himself.

Jon was of a mind to keep Ser Jaime alive to see how long he would survive on the Wall—though he hadn’t said that directly, simply saying that a life of misery on the Wall for an unprepared southerner was more just than beheading. Davos still had a hard time comprehending exactly why the young Lord Commander had voluntarily wished to spend his whole life at the 700 foot block of ice, but he suspected that the Starks had held and would always hold the view that that a life of service at the Wall was a life of honor, very different from what the prominent families in the South thought. _I was not made for that kind of honor._

“Lord Snow, you are so sure that Ser Jaime will be miserable at the Wall. What if your former brothers lose their senses and elect him their Lord Commander when Lord Commander Mallister passes away?” pointedly asked Stannis.

“Well, if the Kingslayer gets elected to the position, that will mean that he will have regained enough honor to get the black brothers to trust him. And as you recall, the king is obligated not to interfere with any decisions that the Night’s Watch makes.”

“Spare me another lecture about the Night’s Watch, Snow, for you no longer serve them _by your own choice_. Don’t make me regret bringing you down from the Wall.”

Jon chose to ignore that. “As many have said, justice can be served in Ser Jaime’s case without killing him. I know of another criminal who did you a noble deed, and in that case you were wise enough to reward him with his just deserves rather than behead him.”

Davos was wondering when his past would be brought up in this discussion, though he hadn’t thought Jon would be the one to do it; even with Stannis on the throne, lords still occasionally insulted and laughed at him behind his back. Nevertheless, though Davos doubted that Jon meant him any ill will, he had a feeling that Stannis would not be pleased. Speaking of which…

King Stannis’ eyes were boring into Jon’s, and Davos was willing to bet that the whole council could hear him grinding his teeth.

“Council dismissed. Please stay, Lord Davos. Lord Commander.”

“Lord Snow,” Stannis began in an icy voice, once the rest of the members had filed out. “While I do value your opinions, I will not suffer for you to insult the other members of my council. You might be able to beat them all bloody with a sword, but you should still give each the respect that he deserves.”

“I only meant to bring attention to…” began Jon.

“I know what you were trying to do, but the deeds of Lord Davos and Ser Jaime are of entirely different natures, both the good and the bad. I did not forget that you called my Hand a smuggler once, I will not have you call him a criminal as well.”

“Then why do _you_ call him a smuggler, Sire?”

Stannis seemed even more incensed by this comment, and Davos could wager a guess why. Stannis often had Jon guard his private chambers in the evening, when he was wont to unwind and have long conversations and with Davos over glasses lemon water. Calling the king out over that particular word choice meant admitting that he was hearing and remembering the King’s private discussions, however innocuous they were. _Aye, he calls me a smuggler, but only in jest—and when others aren’t around. I don’t think you quite understand our curious relationship, Jon. And no matter how true, there are things that you simply don’t tell Stannis._

“How one speaks in private with a loyal friend of nearly two decades is entirely different to how one speaks in public or before a council meeting. And you will do well not to talk of my personal affairs unless I give you permission, for part of the duty of the Kingsguard is to not betray the king’s secrets.”

Jon looked rather hurt, but Davos could tell that he was doing his best to hide it. Like his King, the young Lord Commander was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and he was very good at schooling his features into an expressionless mask that wouldn’t betray his true feelings. Davos wondered if that was a trick Jon had picked up during his time leading the Night’s Watch, or something inherited from his father. He recalled a time years ago during the Greyjoy Rebellion, when he had captained one of Stannis’ warships. King Robert, Ned Stark, and Stannis were discussing battle plans over wine with their lords and commanders, and Robert remarked that the cold North must have frozen Stark’s face because it never revealed anything, except that he was more still more agreeable and jovial than his brother. All the men within earshot had laughed along with the king, and the rest of the evening saw Stannis in a particularly foul mood.

Jon finally nodded, and asked his king’s permission to leave room, which Stannis granted. When Jon’s footsteps had faded, Davos turned to Stannis.

“I think you’re being rather unfair to the boy, your Grace. He was only trying to emphasize that how you dealt with me following the siege of Storm’s End might not be so different from how you should deal with Ser Jaime.”

Stannis glared at him, but Davos could sense that there was no true anger behind it.

“I’ve had enough of this conversation for today, Davos. I will have the council revisit it sometime soon to give some of those fools a chance to reconsider their position, though in all likelihood they’ll just come up with new words to say the same thing.” His tone changed. “Spend the rest of the day with your sons; no doubt they’ve discovered some new secret passage in the castle.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” replied Davos, “No doubt they have, once their tutor has dismissed them from their lessons.” And he left his king sitting alone at the council table, sorting through and studying stacks of official documents.

JON

One evening, as Jon was preparing himself for sleep, he searched for his wolf in his stark white chambers in the White Sword Tower.

“Ghost!” Jon whistled. “Where are you, you dratted wolf?”

When no beast came bounding towards him, he sighed and settled into his bed and opened and closed his sword hand; wondering where Ghost had gotten off to…

And suddenly he was padding down a long stone corridor and approaching a door guarded by four guards. The guards inclined their heads to him and opened the door, which led to a circular staircase. At the top of the staircase stood another door, guarded by a man all in white. By his smell, this man must be the one who liked to pat his head and call him “little wolf.”

“Hello little wolf,” said Ser Rolland, bending down to ruffle the fur on his head. “Is your master behind you?” When no other figure appeared on the staircase, Ser Rolland frowned. “I’m taking you still want to see the king, though? There can’t be any harm in that.”

Ser Rolland knocked on the door. An irritated grumble could be heard from behind it.

“Your Grace, you have a visitor.”

“What in the gods’ names do they want at this hour?”

Ser Rolland opened the door for him, and the wolf walked through.

_I’m having one of my wolf dreams again. Why would Ghost want to visit the king…And what is Stannis still doing awake this late into the night? Does the man ever sleep?_

Stannis was seated at his desk in his solar, pouring over reams of documents that were likely as dry as the parchment they were written on. Tall, thick candles were burning everywhere in the room. When he saw the wolf, Stannis’ sour expression lightened.

“Lord Snow?” said Stannis as he tilted his head to look for someone behind Ser Rolland.

“That’s the thing, your Grace. There’s just the wolf. Maybe Lord Snow sent him to you?”

_No, not tonight, at least._

Stannis regarded Ghost, who was sitting patiently in front of the desk. “The wolf may stay. If perchance he happens to eat me, have Lord Snow’s head put on a spike in the morning.”

Ser Rolland gave a startled nod and shut the door, which was the cue for Ghost to walk to Stannis’ side. The king seemed at a loss for what to say or do, so Ghost nudged his hand. He blinked and then tentatively began to pet him, and Ghost leaned into the touch.

Immediately, Jon could feel Stannis’ rough hands gently brush through his hair and travel lower to rub his neck, just like that day in the godswood. Though he was a tower or two away, he could acutely feel it as Stannis continued to run his hand down Ghost’s back, feel him caressing his spine and hear him talk softly to the wolf.

Stannis examined the scar Ghost had on the back of his neck, where Orell’s eagle had attacked him. “You know, Ghost,” said Stannis quietly to the wolf, “Your master has a scar on his neck as well, except it’s on the front, and blood red like weirwood sap in color.” And Stannis moved his hands to the front of Ghost’s neck, tracing the spot where the scar would be on Jon’s.

Jon could not help but let a moan escape him. Stannis’ touches were making him dizzy, and he was already lying down. He didn’t need a mirror to know that his face was completely flushed, and his breathing had not been steady for quite some time.

Stannis’ hands had moved to Ghost’s face, brushing along his jaw line. “Your master also has a long scar around his right eye…” And the wolf put up no resistance as the king’s index finger ran lightly around the eye.

_What in seven hells are you doing, Ghost? Leave the king and come back to me!_ But try as he might, Jon could neither get his wolf to move nor to get the wolf dream to stop. So he fell asleep to the feel of Stannis’ hands on him, wondering if Stannis believed the rumors that were whispered about him walking at night as a wolf…

DAVOS

He broke his fast in the king’s solar that morning, as he often did. Warm bread and a selection of fresh fruit were handsomely spread out before him. Bushels of peaches had recently arrived from Highgarden, though Davos noticed that his king wasn’t touching the peaches that had been set on the table.

Lord Jon was guarding the king at the moment, and Stannis had invited him to dine with them. Jon had dark circles under his eyes and looked exhausted this early in the morning, which Davos thought to be odd.

“Lord Snow,” Stannis addressed his Lord Commander. “Your wolf has taken to visiting me at night this past week.”

Jon’s face was devoid of emotion, and his dark hair fell into his eyes. “If Ghost is bothering you, your Grace, I can see to it that he is confined to my quarters when I’m asleep.”

Stannis spread some butter on a slice of bread. “There’s no need for that. The wolf always behaves himself and is quite a soothing presence. In all honesty, I always feel safer when he’s around.”

Jon shot an astonished look at the king, and a faint blush appeared on his face when Stannis returned the gaze.

_There’s something more going on between them, but it’s not right of me to pry,_ thought Davos as he helped himself to a peach.

JON

One day when Jon was training in the Red Keep’s practice yard, Lord Davos’ three sons approached him with wooden swords and asked, if it wouldn’t trouble the valiant Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, if he could practice with them. Jon was happy to oblige; the boys were always as kind and polite as their father was to him. Stanny and Steff’s energy reminded him of Bran and Rickon, whom they were of age with.

Jon was teaching the boys the proper way to start a fight when Ser Loras strutted onto the scene in his polished white armor. _His sigil should have been a peacock…_

“Now,” instructed Jon, “before knights begin a fight it is customary for them to shout for their liege lord, family name, or their home; wherever it might be.”

“Ah, so you’re teaching the Hand’s sons some of your tricks, aren’t you?” interrupted Loras in his self assured manner. Even though his failed attempt at conquering Dragonstone under Queen Cersei’s command had left him with horrible scars on his face and neck, and his father’s failed attempt at getting a grandson on the Iron Throne had left the Tyrells with less wealth and influence than before the War of Five Kings, Loras still acted as arrogant as ever. At least when he was wearing the white cloak, and he hardly ever took the thing off. Jon didn’t think he would ever forget Loras’ conversation with Stannis about Renly, though. That was a Loras that Jon was willing to bet few had ever seen.

“Would you like to help me, Ser Loras?”

“I think I will.” Loras turned to Devan, Stanny, and Steff. “I think this business of three against one is terribly unfair, don’t you think?” Before the boys could answer, Loras undid his sword belt and picked up a wooden sword. “Four against one would be more proper against _Ser_ Jon, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.” He shot Jon a dazzling grin.

_Oh you’re_ on, _Loras_. “You’re going to regret this, _Ser_ Loras!” Jon shot right back, his smile matching Loras’. Though perhaps not as a dazzling.

“Highgarden!” exclaimed Loras, not to Jon’s surprise, as Lord Davos’ sons shouted “Seaworth!” and “Cape Wrath!” With a cry of “King Stannis!” Jon joined the fray.

DAVOS

As Davos and his king were walking along the battlements of the Red Keep, they chanced upon Jon teaching his sons some of his sword fighting skills. Then Ser Loras had swaggered onto the scene, and the real entertainment had begun.

Though his sons had run at Jon with Ser Loras, they quickly abandoned their swords to watch the two Kingsguard knights fight each other, which probably was a more enjoying prospect than being quickly beaten down. Not that they weren’t progressing well with their sword fighting, as the Red Keep’s Master at Arms had told Davos, but an eight and eleven year old were no match for a true knight. Devan, at fourteen, was as decent a fighter as any squire his age, though he was beginning to want to spend more time on the sea then land, which Davos was happy to accommodate, teaching him all his sailing tricks.

Beside him, Stannis was amused at the scene playing out on the courtyard below. Jon and Loras were intricately dancing around each other, and Loras seemed to be throwing more insults than blows at his opponent. Jon largely remained silent, save for the occasional biting reply.

“What did you tell your sister to convince her to marry him?” shouted Loras as he brushed aside Jon’s latest sword stroke.

“What? She hasn’t made her decision yet. I didn’t convince her. Just told her. The truth,” Jon shot back between breaths, bewildered.

“Well, if she’s anything like you, maybe our king will be happy with his bride,” said Loras with a leering smile while catching his breath, at which Jon promptly rushed at him, bringing their wooden sword hilts together.

Stannis’ eyebrows jumped at Loras' last comment, then his eyes narrowed as he began to glare at the knight with disdain. Davos was tempted to chuckle, for Loras was obviously resorting to anything and everything to get a rise out of Jon, but with Stannis offended by the offhand comment, he had to wonder.

It struck Davos as curious how quickly Stannis had come to respect and like Jon. Oh, Stannis certainly respected other men, but it always took them a long while to truly _earn_ that respect and trust. And even then there was no guarantee that Stannis would like them, the most appropriate example being Ned Stark. His king never had reason to fault the man or doubt his honor, but he could never find it in him to like Stark or enjoy his company. He wondered if deep down Stannis was a bit jealous of Stark, for Robert’s favor, his loving wife and four fine sons, or his ability to command the unquestionable loyalty of men—even in death, as seen from the recent war. Of course, Davos would never ask Stannis this, for there was a line even he was not willing to cross with his king. _We all have things that we brood upon; we all have things that we should be left in peace about._

There was something about Stannis’ relationship with Jon that gave Davos pause. It was as complicated as his own with the king, but on a different level. Davos felt that Stannis regarded himself more like a brother and best friend than anything else; and Davos in turn gave Stannis respect not just because Stannis was his superior in rank, but because he understood his values and actions and the gods he truly served—honor and duty. Jon was very similar in that sense, that no matter how often he visited the godswood to give thanks to whatever mysterious power that had restored his life, honor and duty were worshiped above all else. When Davos saw the two interacting, whether formally in council or informally in Stannis’ chambers or walking through the halls together, they never struck him as brothers. There was a friendship there, certainly, but it was a friendship more along the lines of a king and his advisor, or a father and his son.

Most intriguingly, Davos sometimes saw Stannis looking at his Lord Commander in such a way that couldn’t be attributed to familiarity or paternal affection; a look akin to a man who desired a woman, or in this case…another man. These moments were always fleeting, as if his king was afraid to let himself dwell on such thoughts. Davos didn’t know quite how to think about this, but it wasn’t up to him to judge where his king turned his affections.

But what ultimately amazed Davos most about the connection between king and Lord Commander was that Jon knew how to make Stannis laugh. Or want to laugh, at any rate.

Davos was brought out of his musings by a sudden change in the duel. Ser Loras seemed to have gotten the better of Ser Jon.

“Do you surrender, my Lord?” Loras had his wooden sword point under Jon’s chin, a triumphant expression on his face.

“No,” replied Jon, and with that he grabbed the wooden sword from Loras, the force of which threw the Loras to the ground.

Davos began to laugh. Though he lacked most of Loras’ fancy tricks, Jon had more brute strength than the Knight of Flowers and wasn’t afraid to use it. His boys were cheering their Lord Commander, and Loras did his best to brush off the defeat when he got back to his feet, refusing Jon’s hand out of pride. Though the two knights had grudging respect for each other, it still didn’t erase the subtle current of spite that seemed to run between them. But at least both were smart enough not to let their personal feelings affect how they carried out their duty as members of the Kingsguard.

“You seem to be much enjoying yourself, Ser Davos,” said Stannis. “Do you think you could upstage the young men down there?”

“Oh no, your Grace,” replied Davos, continuing to laugh. “Even in my youth I was never properly taught how to wield a sword, though I reckon I could still steer a ship through Shipbreaker Bay with my eyes closed.”

“I would have been honored to have any of your older sons on my Kingsguard, if they desired to take that path in life. I am truly sorry for your loss, Davos, and that of your wife as well; suffering the loss of sons has to be a crueler fate than not having any in the first place,” said Stannis matter-of-fact, rather oblivious to the effect the comment would have on Davos.

_My poor boys, how your mother and I have grieved for you. Has it really been over three years since Blackwater Bay burst into flames?_

“You still saved them all, though,” answered Davos after a long moment. “My elder boys would likely have ended up on the Wall for smuggling, or else they would’ve lost more than their fingers. You gave them a future I could never have imagined…Aye, you gave _me_ a future I could never have imagined. That’s something that my king should be proud of.”

Stannis stiffened, and his hands seemed to grip the battlement wall more tightly than before. “So you don’t regret any of it? Bringing your onions to Storm’s End that night, following me from the fires of hell on the Blackwater to the frozen hell up on the Wall, being by my side all of these years?”

_Never. But how to put that into words so you can understand?_

“I thought I would simply gain a few bags of gold for bringing you those onions all those years ago, and then continue with my smuggling ways. But…” Davos paused.

Stannis was staring at him, as if everything depended on his answer.

“Instead I got the opportunity to change my life around and become a better man. Smuggling those onions to your garrison—to _you_ , was the best thing I ever did in my life.”

“Surely you don’t mean that,” replied Stannis bitterly.

“I would hope that after knowing me for over half your life you would know that to you I have only ever spoken the truth.”

At that moment a look of such contentment, a look of such peace crossed Stannis’ face that Davos thought that he surely must be dreaming. Stannis grabbed Davos’ maimed left hand—without permission, as always—and ran his thumb over the shortened fingers. Davos’ breath left him as if _he_ had just been crossing swords with Jon and Loras.

Stannis looked at him again, and simply said, “Thank you.”

JON

Jon’s wolf dreams where Ghost visited King Stannis in his solar kept reoccurring. Sometimes Jon wondered if Ghost _really_ was at Stannis’ side or not, for since that one breakfast with his king and Lord Davos, Stannis had made no comment about the wolf’s visits, and he dared not ask. The dreams were becoming more and more vivid, and Stannis’ hands were starting to travel to places that he was certain they would never go to in waking life. At times Jon would curse when he saw the state of his sheets when he awoke and would hastily wash himself with cold water to make his appearance more presentable.

He wished that he could talk to someone about these dreams to figure out what they meant, but he knew that was an unwise prospect. He wondered how Davos would react if he told him. _Now that would be an absurd conversation. “Lord Davos, I’ve been starting to have inappropriate dreams about our king, would he be likely to reciprocate them?”_ Davos would likely either look at him with disgust or smile sadly and tell him how woefully misguided he was.

Nevertheless, life at King’s Landing was beginning to fall into a comfortable pattern for Jon: Rise, instruct his Kingsguard brothers on their duties, train at arms, sit on the king’s council, and spend the rest of his time either guarding, accompanying, or talking with the king. Sometimes he felt that the world only consisted of those in the Red Keep, and at other times just those that King Stannis willingly spent his time with—himself, Lord Davos and his children, and Princess Shireen. But other times Jon felt that an even smaller world existed when his watched his king and his Hand together. When the two men looked at each other, there was this wordless but oh-so-strong connection between them, and even though Jon was armed with Valyrian steel, there was no way he could break into the world that only Stannis and Davos seemed to be a part of.

~

It was evening again, and Jon was having a conversation with his king while he guarded him in his solar. Wait, take that back. He was having an _argument_ with his king. That afternoon the small council had debated again on what to do with Ser Jaime Lannister, and the debate turned out just like all the others before it: Stannis had ground his teeth, Davos calmly sat and said there were much worse things than death, and the lords and masters of this and that croaked the same things they had before, no one willing to budge on their position.

Jon was tired of the indecision, Lord Tyrion’s ravens were becoming more and more hostile and likely to be laced with wildfire any day now, and the king…King Stannis still wanted the oath breaker beheaded, which Jon thought was the wrong decision with each passing day.

“Why again do I have to listen to your arguments to spare Jaime Lannister? Your constant insistence at me changing my mind is beginning to infuriate me! No man in Westeros can argue about the injustice of him being put to death; would you like me to list the oaths he has broken again?”

“No need, your Grace, unless you would like to add anything to king slaying, queen slaying, kin slaying, adultery, incest, and the attempted murder of children?” Jon shot back.

“Let me repeat myself. Why do you still want me to change my mind?”

“Because a wise man once said that a bad act cannot wash out the good. Ser Jaime had sound reasons for killing King Aerys and Queen Cersei, and frankly he did the realm a favor in both cases.”

“You might have forgotten that this same ‘wise man’ also said that a good act does _not_ wash out the bad. You argument will just keep going around in circles! A decision has to be made on this topic after close to a year of deliberation, and I intend to make the one that Robert should have made when he became king!”

Stannis was really starting to scare Jon now. The king’s eyes were livid, his posture was absurdly tense, and he when he wasn’t shouting he was grinding his teeth so hard that Jon thought it a miracle that they didn’t shatter.

“My king, it won’t destroy you to compromise with your friends and adversaries alike. Take Lord Tyrion’s offer to erase half the crown’s debt and send the Kingslayer to the Wall and be done with it! You will reap most all the benefit from a deal like that; instead of executing justice that could lose any loyalty you have or will ever have in the Westerlands.”

“I do not answer to you for all my decisions! And why should I have to justify justice?”

“Don’t you see it? I don’t want to see you make the same mistakes that I made!”

“And what mistakes were those?”

“The ones where I failed to justify the reasons for my decisions with _my_ lords. The ones that alienated me from _my_ brothers of the Night’s Watch. _The ones that got me killed_ by men I thought were mine.”

Jon could see Stannis’ eyes widen in realization, as if he finally understood the unsaid meanings behind his words. As if he finally understood how true a member of the Kingsguard Jon was, how somewhere along the line Jon had come to regard him as more than just the king he served. And Jon realized that he was sick of it, so thoroughly sick of their bickering and the tangles of politics that were causing so much frustration and aggravation. Years from now, he would not be able to fathom why he did what he did, why something buried deep inside of him chose that moment to snap and erase whatever semblance of common sense was still left in him. But he would know that he would never regret it. In three quick steps he erased the distance between them and grabbed his king roughly by his thin shoulders. Jon briefly registered the spark of surprise that leapt out from Stannis’ eyes before he kissed him full on the mouth.

Stannis remained frozen, but he didn’t make any move to push Jon away. His hands reached up to cover Jon’s, and at the touch Jon’s senses returned to him and reminded him of exactly what folly he was doing. As if he had been burned, Jon pushed himself away from his king and hastily stumbled backwards, nearly tripping on his white cloak and muttering apologies that he doubted anyone but himself could hear.

He risked a glance at his king’s face, expecting Stannis to be livid, enraged, or furious enough to kill him. Except…Stannis looked like none of those things. The King of the seven kingdoms of Westeros was still rooted to the spot where Jon had kissed him, staring at him with the most stunned expression he had ever seen on anyone. _Gods, I don’t think even_ Davos _has seen him this shocked in near twenty years._

Truly, Jon was more scared of this Stannis. He had seen his king angry enough times to know the right way to act around him during those moments. He had seen him irritated, thoughtful, happy even, when he watched his daughter ride the new horse he had bought for her last nameday. But he had never seen Stannis stunned, shocked, astonished—or any of those related emotions—at _anything_ , and that really scared Jon.

In an instant, Stannis’ expression changed from stunned to determined, and without word or warning Stannis swiftly strode toward him, grabbed his face with both hands and kissed _him_ hard on the mouth. Jon had never been kissed like that before—not that he had much to compare it to. Stannis’ lips were rough as they furtively moved against his own, as if a lightning bolt was suddenly going to strike and stop him from finishing what he started. Jon hesitated less than a second before he yielded to Stannis’ tongue against his lips, and when he opened his mouth more Stannis deepened the kiss. Jon could feel his king’s calloused fingers threading through his hair, occasionally pulling at it to keep his head in place and tilted up toward him. He remembered what those fingers felt like brushing through Ghost’s fur in his dreams and that day in the godswood, how good it felt then and how much it had made him blush. But feeling through Ghost was nothing compared to what it felt like in his real body, and Jon couldn’t control the moan that shamelessly escaped him.

Eventually—both of them desperately needing air—they mutually broke the kiss. Stannis’ eyes were still closed, and his hands were gently cupping Jon’s face. Jon found himself pushed up against the nearest wall with his hands clutching at the collar of Stannis’ tunic. He didn’t remember being near the wall in the first place, or Stannis pushing him up against it.

When Stannis had caught his breath, he opened his eyes at Jon. The color of dragonglass they seemed, for there was only a thin ring of blue separating the iris from the pupil. In a low voice, he began: “I have a proposal to make to you, Lord Snow. I will not fault you for whatever choice you make, for it is up to you to decide what path to take if you wish to maintain any principles that you hold, and I will never force you to do anything that is against your will.”

_Proposals_. Jon was familiar with Stannis’ proposals, and he had a feeling that this one would be just as tempting and just as morally conflicting. _You can rise as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell…Become the leader of the finest order of knighthood in the realm…_

“You can wait outside this door until Ser Rolland relieves you for the night, and I will promise never to speak of this evening ever again unless you wish to; it is at your discretion. Or…”

“Or?” Jon’s heart was pounding, faster than perhaps it had when he fought the wight in Lord Mormont’s chambers.

“Or, you can tell Ser Rolland that he is not needed tonight, for you have unfinished business that you wish to further discuss with me.”

Now it was Jon’s turn to look taken aback. Did Stannis mean what he thought he meant? He must, if the hand now running along his jaw and the thumb tracing his bottom lip were any indication.

“But what about the guard?” Jon breathed out. _There always has to be a member of the Kingsguard present, one who is guaranteed to be awake, with sword in hand, and not…distracted._ “Shouldn’t you always have a member of the Kingsguard by your side?”

“There are guards enough at the base of this tower, but should someone slip past them I think that two wolves are enough to protect me, don’t you think?”

Jon opened his mouth in a half smile. Was Stannis Baratheon actually trying to play with him?

Stannis dropped his hands, turned away from him, and walked back toward his desk, sitting back down in his chair and sorting through stacks of papers. No further mention of Ser Jaime Lannister was made. If anyone else were to see the king at the moment, they would never have been able to guess that just minutes before he had been roughly kissing the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard up against the wall, such was his talent in composing himself—save for a slight redness on his lips. Jon, on the other hand, was still leaning against the wall, breathing rather heavily.

_Ser Rolland is due to replace me any minute. I should get down to the base of this tower and meet him right now…What in the names of all the old gods and the new am I going to do? Why do I always have to be so conflicted about everything? But then again, am I really conflicted about the choice I want to make?_

So Jon made his way to the door to go out of his king’s chambers, looking back at Stannis. Blue eyes met grey for what seemed an eternity, as Stannis finally said:

“I await your decision...Jon.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> Jon being brought back to life: I wanted to go deeper into how Jon survived his assassination attempt other than simply he “miraculously survived” or "Melisandre did everything." Hopefully what I came up with is as plausible as some of the theories flying around out there; if the Red Priests can bring people back to life with a kiss, why not the weirwoods? I just hope that GRRM doesn’t write something completely lame about how Jon is brought back to life, and yes, I believe Jon’s too important a character to the series to kill off at this point, given how much of the story is invested in him and his POV. Sort of like if Harry had been "killed" in book five out of seven in the Harry Potter series.
> 
> Godswood scene: Stannis is a staunch agnostic in the books, and doesn’t care about religion except when it can inspire fear in his enemies and followers alike, hence his partnership with Melisandre. We know why he doesn’t believe in the Seven (his parents’ drowning), and we also know that he thinks it’s rather silly to pray to trees. So would his lack of faith ever change? Possibly. I’m not saying that Stannis will become a fervent follower of any religion other than honor and duty, but I think it’s in character for him to have doubts when presented with something that defies all logic—i.e. Jon being brought back to life.
> 
> Jaime scene: I was trying to mimic Jaime’s characterization in Catelyn’s last ACOK chapter, where he basically loses all forms of restraint. You can argue that he isn’t this arrogant in ASOS and AFFC, but after murdering Cersei I think he’d permanently snap. Anyways, he’s good for making japes against Stannis, Jon, and Davos that no one would ever dare say to Stannis directly, and also for furthering the Stannis/Jon dynamic and giving them something legitimate to argue about. 
> 
> Last scene: Sooooooo…I wanted to try writing in context Stannis/Jon that goes beyond UST. Hopefully Stannis’ characterization here isn’t too out of character, and that you don’t think he should have just dismissed Jon and brooded about the kiss for ages on end. Stannis and Jon will naturally be brooding/having long internal monologues after that night for sure (because that’s who those characters are), but I at least can see Jon doing something rash (as he is wont to do) and Stannis throwing caution to the wind for once because, “Seven hells, the boy clearly initiated it!”


End file.
